There Will Be Love
by Vengefulnoob
Summary: At dusk, Sybil and Tom meet surreptitiously in the garage of Downton Abbey, and a night of surprises ensues. Set during the first episode of season 2.


Tom leaned back against the garage wall, sighing contently as the crimson of the Yorkshire sunset struck the wall opposite him. The motor gleamed like the polished silverware he had on occasion seen Carson whisking upstairs for dinner service while taking his breaks in the servants' quarters; Staring at it intently enough, he could even see his smug expression reflected on the sideboard. Lord Grantham's Renault might not be the fastest machine on the roads now that some of the newer American Model T's were appearing, but it still handled like a dream, and Tom knew how to get the landaulette's engine purring like a pampered cat. Right now though, she was just looking her best for tomorrow morning.

The Lord himself wanted a ride to the train station, something about going to Horse Guards regarding some position in the military? He frowned, trying to recall if O'Brien had let slip anything about it as she was want to do during their supper. He caught himself wondering about it, and snapped out of it, angry that he should even care. Those bastards had murdered at random just a few months earlier. His darkened mood moved on at pace, angrily, reminding him about his cousin, walking calmly down the street, shot by some... He stopped that train of thought before it ruined what had otherwise been a pleasant evening. Looking down, he realized his fists were clenched against the garage's sole workbench, knuckles white as a sheet. He slowly untensed his fingers and turned, illuminating the gas lamp that he used at nights and breathed out heavily, staring into the flickering flame.

Recently, he'd cared less for reading newspapers, reached for telegrams and letters from home in a more measured way. Each one filled him with dread, with anger. Of course, he couldn't tell anyone, and though he didn't doubt Bates or Anna might be somewhat sympathetic, would sit him down and hear him out, he knew they had their own issues to deal with. "Well, good luck to 'em." he murmured under his breath, before turning his mind to his own problem. Of course, he could always try and tell Sybil, but he saw little enough of her as it was, and he had little care to spend their time together growing angrier at the world and it's madness. At least, thinking about her made him calmer, though it was always accompanied with the same wave of mournfulness, with just the slightest glimmer of hope; If only he could just get the chance to talk to her, let her know... Finding that chance would be one in a thousand, he considered.

"Well, luck of the Irish," He snickered bitterly to himself, before picking up the lantern, heading towards the door, whistling the internationale defiantly to the empty garage. At this point, he just wanted to finish the chapter of Les Miserables that he was reading and sleep so that he would be ready for Lord Grantham's journey early in the morning; He'd been told about the drive today, which meant that in all likelihood, it would be an early morning train. As he reached the door, he heard a faint rapping on the outside. He raised an eyebrow questioningly. It was too late for any of the servants to be coming to the garage, so he opened the door with caution. A pair of piercing blue eyes were illuminated through the hesitant crack in the door, which Tom took no time to recognize.

"Lady Sybil, I didn't know it was you, it's late and..." He opened the door wide out of courtesy, allowing her to pass him without finishing the sentence, trying to process what he was seeing.

"I'm sorry, Tom, I couldn't come earlier as Papa was going on about this new position he got with his old regiment."

She stood, in front of him, barely illuminated by the glow of the gas lamp.

"Well, I wasn't expecting you, it's just..."

Tom rubbed his eyes, trying to comprehend the image in front of him.

"Milady... why are you in your night-gown?"

Sybil looked down, eyes opened wide in mock astonishment.

"Oh no!"

She looked up, biting her lip and advancing towards him, her tone suddenly turned husky.

"It appears that I might have forgotten to put on any clothes to come and see you after getting ready for bed."

She placed a hand on his chest, pushing him backwards with a wicked glint in her eye, practically breathing into his mouth.

"How utterly careless of me."

Tom was shocked. He thought of her like this all the time, of course, but... he'd always assumed that when the time came, she would be herself; mild, rational. Of course, seeing her as impassioned as he was stirring long restrained fire in his own blood, but... no, this was all wrong; This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. Maybe he could talk her out of this rashness, and another day they could talk about this, even act it out, but right now he had to let cooler heads prevail. He backed up against the -now closed- door, stammering as she began kissing his neck.

"Sybil, I j-just... I've never even told you how I feel! And what if someone notices that you're missing?!"

Sybil moaned into his ear, hands reaching around his neck, ignoring his complaints all together.

"Tom, you have no idea how long I've waited for this."

He smiled, ecstatic that she felt as he did, happy that she was even using his first name, but still shocked by this turn of events. No, this had to stop. Clearly she wasn't thinking straight.

"Sybil, I love you, b-"

"I love you too, Tom."

Sybil began reaching towards regions that would make her sisters blush. It was neither delicate, nor meek, it was driven by a lust that burned in her eyes like a hurricane trying to destroy a town. He had to stop her. He pushed her away gently, hating himself for doing so, yet not as much as he might have done before she entered.

"B-but this is too fast, I... I don't even know if you truly love me!"

He paused, before punctuating his particular choice of appellation for emphasis.

"Milady."

Sybil stood still and stared, clearly pained by his choice of phrasing.

"Am I really so unattractive to you, Tom?"

"It's not that Sybil, it's just that we can't be doing this now, I need to... I should be wooing you, not leaping at an opportunity that might not even exist. Do you really love me?"

"Tom, I want you."

"Milady, trust me, I burn in the just the same way, but you did not answer the ques-"

"Take me. Take me away."

This last sentence convinced him that she was definitely not in her right mind, combined with her starting to run her hands through her hair, turning the combed curls into a perfect mess.

"I... where..."

"Let's run away to Ireland."

"H-How would we even do that? WHY would we do that?"

"I want you inside me, Tom. I want to start a family with you."

"Milady, I think you need to go to sleep."

"After."

"No, now, Milady, you clearly aren't well."

Sybil looked into his eyes, curious, standing next to the workbench

"Clearly you were lying and aren't interested in me then."

"Frankly milady, in this state, I would be wrong to take advantage, it's just a passing malady..."

He petered out, watching as Sybil reached over for the can of motor oil that stood upon the workbench.

"...tomorrow you'll... what are you doing with that oil?"

Sybil began pouring the viscous liquid on her hair, letting it run down her polished, dignified cheeks and stain into her dress.

"How about now, Tom? Isn't this what you want to see?"

Tom gaped, his voice lost somewhere in his shock. His lungs rapidly inflated and deflated, desperate to provide enough oxygen to his brain to stay conscious.

"Oh Tom, It's getting EVERYWHERE!"

She paused, giggling manically.

"Don't you enjoy what you see?"

Tom's answer escaped as a confused "no", while Sybil opened the can's lid and poured the entire contents over herself, rubbing the oil all over her now ruined night-gown with her hands.

"Oh yes, Tom, take me like you've always wanted me. Oh god!"

Tom backed up slowly towards the door, trying to keep the lamp away from Sybil lest she set herself on fire in this... madness? He had never seen anything like it, and he was sure that Dr. Clarkson would have trouble working out what it was either. Sybil had long stopped looking at Tom, her eyes were now closed, her oily shower pre-occupying all her attention. She was now fixated on rubbing the oil over the tattered remains of her night-gown's hips. The can emptied, she frowned and jettisoned it next to the car, a splash of remnant oil splattering the Renault's beautifully polished doors.

"This won't do, I need more."

"How... how will you get clean?"

"You'll wash me. I need more."

Tom shrank further against the door, panic beginning to make itself known in his now very confused mind. Opening one of her eyes, that was mercifully free of the oil, Sybil looked up to see one of three oil drums kept above the car in the garage, secured on planks by means of ropes, and undid the cap with care, it's contents flushing over her.

"OH GOD, YES, TOM!"

She raised her arms into the now constant stream of oil, coating her arms in the substance before using her hands to grease her legs, starting at her ankles and working her way upwards, underneath her night-gown.

Come and join me, I've always liked seeing you stained with oil."

Sybil looked down at his crisply pressed shirt that had mercifully remained free of stains, unlike the Renault, that looked like it had been given a fresh coat of paint by the Ripon Grammar School's students. Tom continued to stare, unsure of what to do, other than blowing out the gaslight so as not to set the whole garage ablaze, but was immediately greeted by the same sight, this time illuminated by moonlight.

"Oh yes, Tom, blow out the light, it's so much prettier by moonlight!"

Tom simply gazed at her, realizing that the feelings he'd had for this woman that he had come to idolise were now evaporating. He couldn't in all conscience bare the thought of talking to her again, let alone tell her his feelings when she returned to her proper mind.

He would leave Downton tomorrow.

Or now.

Now would work as well.

He tried moving his legs, but found himself rooted to the spot by a mixture of shock and the now ample amount of oil covering his shoes. Sybil was now rubbing the oil into her hair, washing every strand, then alternately clutching at her breasts that had been exposed by the shredded and tattered night-gown. The oil drum was now beginning to run dry, by the sounds of the stream, and it had filled the small garage ankle deep in the stuff. Papers floated on the sea of black, barely illuminated by the sliver of moonlight that still shone through the window. From the drum, a glug could be heard as the last drops joined the ocean on the floor, and Tom heard Sybil cry out once more in a disappointed tone,

"Another..."

before collapsing to the floor, overcome by the fumes with a distinct splash. Spurred to action, Tom waded through the sea of black towards her, picking her floating, unconscious body from her face down position, and clearing her nose and mouth to be sure she could still breathe. When he was sure he could hear her breaths, he opened the door with his foot, a veritable flood of oil escaping with him, and began striding as quickly as his legs could carry him towards the house, where a dim light shone through the hallway window. Upon reaching the threshold of the mansion, he noticed Anna conversing with a teary-eyed Lady Mary intently by the hallway, a crumpled note in Mary's hand. The two began staring at him, confused, not seeing Sybil in his arms through the door window.

"Look, I need help, I know you two don't know anything about carrying bodies, but there's been an accident and I need you to take her upstairs to her bed, and cleaned up."

Mary first looked angered that Tom was even in the house, and enraged that he would even command her to do anything, before her bloodshot eyes opened in horror to see Sybil lying in his arms. She opened her mouth to yell, then hushed herself to a husky and vehement whisper, rushing over to her sister and looking at Tom with eyes narrowed and filled with a rage he had never seen anyone express before.

"Sybil! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER YOU MONSTER?!"

Tom stared at her with eyes wide and still filled with panic.

"ME?! SHE DID THIS!"

Anna stepped in between the two, making sure that Sybil was still breathing.

"Thank god, she's alive. Branson, if this really was an accident, what on earth happened?!"

Tom looked sincerely at both of them, and down at Sybil's slippery form, dripping oil all over Downton's finely upholstered carpet.

Mary looked incoherently angry, so Anna spoke for her.

"Well?"

Tom stood up, leaving Sybil's body in Anna's arms, before panting "Fucked if I know!", then sprinting out of the door, ignoring the hissing of the duo behind him to stop immediately. His breath rose in his chest, tearing at his lungs in the cold night air, arms pumping to get him away from this house, away from everything. He had to leave. He had to. He sprinted across the grounds, feet squelching on the grass, leaving oily footprints trailing behind him. He ran as no man has ever run before, clearing the gate and letting himself scream into the night, just as he had yearned to for the last hour. Mary and Anna stared, confusedly into the distance, the Irish chaffeur rapidly disappearing into the swirling night mists, leaving a few minutes to ponder the madness of mankind, before discussing just what they were going to do to clean Sybil up and how to get her into her bed without anyone noticing.

* * *

To all Tom Sybil shippers, including my significant other:

_I am so, so sorry._


End file.
